


Stay The Night

by writingonpostcards



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cursed Stiles Stilinski, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 17:53:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5549858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Claudia decided her parting gift to Stiles was to give him a way to know he’d find ‘true love’. Sounds lovely, does it not?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>The reality of that vague yet pleasant wish was an intangible cloud hovering over Stiles until he reached his 20s, left for college, and encountered a baffling phenomenon.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>His inability to spend the night with someone.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay The Night

**Stay The Night**

At first it was quite amusing, watching people leave his house, making half-baked excuses and not really knowing why.

“Sorry, I have an exam tomorrow morning. Very early. Need to go home and sleep.”

“I’ve left my cat alone. She needs dinner. Sorry.”

“I need to go. Got a thing on. Sorry.”

Sorry sorry sorry.

Well the person who was most sorry was Stiles. Sorry for his mother than her last dying wish got twisted to come out as a curse.

You see, she was dying for quite some time. The slow death. Cancer. But Claudia was always looking on the bright side – something Stiles tries to convince himself he inherited from her – and in her opinion that just gave her more time to plan her passing and savour what life she did have left.

And long story short ( _long_ story, god how she clung on after all) she decided her parting gift to Stiles was to give him a way to know he’d find ‘true love’.

Sounds lovely, does it not?

The reality of that vague yet pleasant wish for her son was an intangible cloud hovering over Stiles until he reached his 20s, left for college, and encountered a baffling phenomenon.

His inability to spend the night with someone.

Not biblically, thank god for small mercies, but afterward.

There’s a compulsion to leave.

If Stiles is in their place, he can feel it like a rope around his lungs, squeezing a little bit too tight to be comfortable, that doesn’t loosen until he’s out the front door. He can’t say what the others feel that compels them to leave his house, but something that makes them apologise for it.

Or maybe that’s common courtesy. To apologise to a one-night-stand when you leave right after sex. Stiles, of course, wouldn’t know. That is his normal.

Back to the beginning though, watching people leave him? Not so fun to have as an expected part of one’s evening. Sobering. Every time a reminder of his mother. A reminder that Stiles is apparently yet to find ‘true love’, or even the potential for it.

Sometimes, when he’s three glasses in and exhausted, Stiles hates his mother for it, feels he _would_ have been in love already if not for her curse letting him know that, ‘hey, they’re not the one for you’.

And then he gets to a sixth glass somewhere down the line and he’s hating himself for thinking that and remembering that actually he has been in love, even if it was only an unreciprocated high school crush.

Stiles likes to think it’s made him a good lover though. With an almost guarantee that he’s only going to spend the one night with someone, why not make it the absolute best it can be. Like it’s the only chance you’ll ever get. You need to make every single action count. Every word between you, every brush of skin against skin, every press of mouth to mouth.

Stiles has a vivid memory and an expansive imagination. It staves of the loneliness.

Not that he’s alone, mind. He still has his father. And several friends who are great. Just not that other thing.

That elusive someone who walks the edges of his dreams.

“Hey, Stiles. Are you awake?”

“Hmm?” Stiles rolls over, sheet slipping over his sweat damp skin, opening his eyes to see the hazel-blue swirl of Derek’s looking into his.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Stiles smiles lazily, reaches his hand to cup Derek’s cheek. Derek grabs the hand and kisses Stiles’ palm.

“So-“

“Uh-oh.” Stiles leans up on an elbow and Derek drops his head.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Stiles knows this next bit by heart. No point making it harder for Derek. They always seem so confused by it.

“I hate to do this but I’m working early tomorrow.”

“You need to go home.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles sits up properly, bringing his face before Derek’s. He leans in to brush their lips together slowly, holding for as long as he can. Making a memory.

Derek pulls back. He’s already dressed.

“Thank you.”

Stiles lies back down. He watches Derek let himself out of Stiles’ bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Stiles, worn out, is asleep before he gets the chance to hear the open and close of the front door.

-

Stiles only ever sleeps with someone the once. After he or they are compelled away from each other, the only reason to keep meeting up is for fun, and Stiles can get that from someone new and cross another person off his ‘are they?’ list at the same time. So why bother with repeats.

The exception proves the rule.

The second time Stiles sleeps with Derek is not so different from the first. They happen to run into each other at a bar, talk a bit, flirt a bit – Stiles is a serial offender and he can’t seem to turn it off tonight no matter how hard he tries – and when Derek implies he’d be happy for a repeat what is Stiles to do? Say no?

He should have. He doesn’t.

But he can’t say he regrets it, even when Derek leaves after. Something about his sister and a redeye flight.

-

Stiles calls his dad.

He’s the only one who knows about the curse. Besides Scott. But since he got divorced Scott’s been a little sour that Stiles has a cheat way of ‘knowing when love is real’.

So he calls his father.

“Dad, there’s this guy.”

“Hold on, let me get my tally sheet.”

“No. Don’t.”

Silence on the other end.

“Why not, kid?”

“He’s... different.”

“Did he stay the night?”

“No. No, of course not-“

“Don’t say that. It’ll happen someday.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“ _Stiles_.”

Stiles sighs, closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the fridge.

“Three times dad. With the same guy.”

Silence. A cough. Then;

“That’s not like you.”

“I can’t help it. He makes me want to say yes.”

“To what?”

“Anything. Everything. But it’s happened three times. He always leaves. We know what that means.”

His dad sighs out heavily. It comes through scratchy and makes Stiles flinch.

“I can’t tell you what to do.”

“I know.”

“Wish I could, though. Wish I could.”

“I know.”

Stiles fiddles with the fridge magnets, lining them up in size order. He can hear his dad moving around as well, the sound of reading glasses clinking against the phone as they’re taken off. Stiles can see his dad rubbing at his forehead, wrinkles like old friends folding themselves into his skin.

“I’m seeing him again tonight.”

Stiles blurts it out.

“I’m not sure that’s healthy. You were the one who told me repeating the same thing over and over and expecting different results is insanity.”

“And you’re the one who told me there’s always hope.”

“There is, Stiles. There is.” His father pauses. Stiles rearranges the magnets in colour order. “But once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, and three times-”

“Is a pattern, I know. But don’t exceptions prove the rule?”

His father sighs. Again. “We could talk in circles around this forever. Just... have a good night, Stiles. I love you.”

“Love you too, dad.”

-

Stiles is on the edge of sleep and thinks Derek is too when a phone goes off. Not his ringtone. Derek’s then.

Well, it’s the first time the curse has manifested so tangibly.

Derek removes his arms from Stiles and rolls over to reach for his phone, left on the bedside table next to Stiles’ paperback.

Stiles watches as he checks the caller ID, then frowns and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, back to Stiles.

“Cora? Why are you calling so late?”

Stiles traces the triskelion tattoo with his index finger. Derek doesn’t react. It’s like he’s already left again.

Derek’s on the phone for only a minute or two. He listens a lot, talks some. Mainly things like, ‘when’ or ‘how’ and twice, ‘are you okay’.

Stiles traces the tattoo until he’s certain he’s memorised it right. Something for later.

Derek hangs up and stays with his back to Stiles.

One mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi...

Eighty-four mississippi until Derek turns around, looking horribly remorseful. An ugly look for such a damn gorgeous face.

Stiles makes it easy for him. How can he not? He doesn’t want Derek to feel badly about having to leave. It’s not his fault after all. That’s all Stiles and his curse.

“I get it. You need to go.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“Cora needs you.”

Derek moves suddenly, pining Stiles to the bed with forearms either side of his head. He stares.

While he stares, Stiles memorises.

Lashes long and straight, a perfect line between stubble and smooth skin on his cheeks, brown flecks in the iris of his left eye and not his right.

Then Derek kisses him. Hard. Bruising. Too short to satisfy.

“One day, Stiles, one day I won’t have to leave you.”

Stiles doesn’t tell him that’s a lie.

-

Then they happen for a fifth time.

It’s a little different. It’s been longer between meetings and the moment they lay eyes on each other – at the supermarket of all places – Stiles just knows. He can feel it in his gut and see it in Derek’s eyes.

So they spend the day together and it’s great.

If Stiles were someone else he’d call it a date. But he isn’t, and regardless of how cuddly Derek gets during the movie they put on, how their baking dissolves into a food fight, how Stiles is comfortable leaving Derek alone in his house while he delivers lunch to his dad at work, Derek will still eventually leave. And he does.

“It’s Cora’s birthday dinner. I’m hosting. Don’t know why actually seeing as Peter’s house is bigger than my apartment, but it was Cora’s request, so...”

He trails off like he’s holding back from saying something.

Stiles decides in that moment that this is it. Was it. The last time he lets himself say yes to Derek.

He got a whole day and what could beat that? Well, he knows what could. Derek actually staying. But since that’s not going to happen ever, Stiles need to make some stance, take some control. So this will be it. The last time he has Derek like this.

“What does it feel like?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, standing in Stiles’ doorframe, bags of groceries from his morning trip all those hours ago in his hands.

“What does what feel like?”

Stiles steps toward Derek but leaves feet of air between them still.

“Right now.” Step. “Leaving here.” Step. “Leaving me.” Step. “What does it feel like?”

Derek surveys Stiles and his gaze feels like it’s unpicking him stitch by stitch, trying to get to all the soft stuffing in the middle.

“It’s an ache.” Derek replies after a minute. “Like my lungs have grown, or my ribs shrunk. But it’s not bad.”

“How can it not be?”

“Because I know I’ll come back, and the feeling will go away.”

Then he steps inside, kisses Stiles on the cheek, and leaves with his groceries.

-

Stiles gets the call the next morning.

“They want to meet you.”

“Who?”

“Cora and Peter. Apparently I talk about you a lot.”

“Oh.” Stiles feels his cheeks warm.

“Yeah. So dinner at mine? Friday night if you’re free?”

“Yes. I am. Sounds great.”

“You can uh... stay the night. If you want.”

Stiles sighs. Feels sadness settle lumpily in his throat.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Okay. Good. I’ll grab a spare toothbrush for you.”

“Thanks, Derek.”

“See you then, Stiles.”

It’s dangerous territory he’s wading into. Too much. He’s... for god’s sake he’s meeting Derek’s family. His only family. Which he knows because they’ve _talked_. Impossible, surely (it should have been), to fit in around the curse. But it happened. Stiles almost likes those memories better than the physical ones.

When Derek goes back to whatever he was before Stiles, Stiles will remember his soft smile, the one that shows a glimpse of his front teeth through his parted lips. He will remember the feel of Henley’s beneath his fingers, stubble against his cheek. The sounds of Derek’s sighs, his quiet moans, the way he said ‘hey’ whenever they saw each other.

Happiness. Contentment. Stiles will remember those things too.

And he won’t be able to forget the feeling he gets when he watches Derek leave.

He wonders what Derek will remember of him.

-

Stiles wakes up. It’s calm. There’s a silence in the air into which he imagines a slight breeze ruffling curtains, a squeak of a bed spring, a mumble of voices through floorboards.

He imagines all these things with his eyes closed. Or-

He sits up. His heart pounds. His eyes widen. The sheets are white.

The sheets are white.

The sheets are wrong.

“Stiles? What’s going on?”

Stiles turns to see Derek beside him in bed, sleep top rumbled and skewing toward one shoulder, pillow creases down one side of his face.

He looks at the clock.

10:23.

In the morning.

“I don’t understand. How am I here?”

“You fell asleep during the movie last night. I didn’t want you sleeping on the couch.”

“But I can’t be here.”

Derek pushes himself up, leans against the headboard.

“Should I have left you on the couch?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Derek pulls Stiles up alongside him. They’re both against the headboard now, sitting close. Suffocatingly close. Though they’ve been closer and probably were last night.

“I need to ask you some questions. And I need you to tell me the truth.”

Derek furrows his brow but nods.

“The first time we slept together, the first time, you left. You said you had to work early the next morning.”

“I did.”

“How early?”

“4am.”

Stiles bites his lip.

“Can you prove it? Please?”

Derek stares at him a moment, eyes tracing over his face, but reaches for his phone, unlocking it and bringing up his calendar to show Stiles the entry for that day. _Work 04:00 – 12:00_.

“Okay, okay.” Stiles mutters to himself, getting out of the bed so he can pace, staring at the numbers on the screen.

True then, that Derek did have to leave. Wasn’t _made_ to leave. The possibility that it wasn’t the curse forcing Derek’s hand that night is taunting, tantalising, tempting. To think that maybe, just maybe, the curse wasn’t in play at all, just an honest commitment Derek had to keep that prevented him staying the night.

But once is only an incident.

“Second time we were together,” Stiles pivots to Derek, “you left again.”

“I needed to pick Cora up from the airport.”

Stiles flicks through Derek’s calendar. Derek doesn’t stop him. Hasn’t moved from his position in the bed at all. Stiles can’t tell if he’s wary, worried or confused. All of the above perhaps. His eyes track Stiles as he resumes pacing.

_Cora. Pick up from BHAX. 03:20._

His heart is getting ahead of itself. Twice is a coincidence, he tells himself. Just a coincidence and it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the entry for the third time they were together. _Work 04:00 – 12:00_. Same as the first time.

Third time is a pattern.

But what is that really saying about anything? It happened again, didn’t it? The curse? A fourth time and a fifth time until this time. So even if the first three weren’t, then those two still could have been and god why is Stiles trying so hard to talk himself out of hoping for this.

Talk himself out of hoping for this _more_. Who is he kidding? He’s been hoping for a while now.

But if all 5 times were actually just bad timing on his and Derek’s part then... what does that even mean? Is Derek the one he could fall in love with? What does _that_ even mean?

All he knows is hope.

He has an infinity of hope inside him that they could mean something. That they have the opportunity to work it all out.

Derek resumes unprompted.

“The fourth time I had planned to stay, but then Cora called me after someone tried to break into her house. You said I should go check on her. The fifth time, I hadn’t planned anything at all because I hadn’t expected to see you that day.”

“You had Cora’s birthday dinner.”

Derek gets out of the bed, eyes never leaving Stiles’ who can’t seem to move his either. He doesn’t touch, but he gets close enough that he doesn’t need to.

“Will you tell me what’s going on now.”

Stiles clutches Derek’s phone to his chest.

“I’m cursed.”

Derek doesn’t react. Stiles tries again.

“I’ve never spent the night with someone before. Afterwards. I’ve never stayed the night.”

“I’m your first?”

“Yeah.”

Derek smiles softly, nods a little.

“Are the two related?”

“Inextricably.”

And then Stiles explains everything.

-

“So I get to be your last?”

That’s what Derek says after Stiles has finished.

Stiles wants to laugh at the absurdity, the endearing-ness of it. So he does. He gives himself the freedom to feel whatever he needs to in response to Derek and he laughs. No more keeping his emotions in check, keeping hope from creeping up his insides. He laughs until he’s crying and then somehow, through his tears, he manages to say ‘yes, yes please’.

And so Derek is his last.

And a lot of his other firsts too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Find the fic in it's original home [here](http://stereksecretsanta.tumblr.com/post/135886067043/merry-christmas-writerdragonfly) or hiding away in my fandom [tumblr](http://whatthehellisahoechlin.tumblr.com/).


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